


Scenes from Two Lives, Converged

by venusinthenight



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Asian-American Character, Black Character(s), Canon Character of Color, Community: holmestice, Domestic, Easter Eggs, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), Male-Female Friendship, Slice of Life, compilation of 221B ficlets, lifelong friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusinthenight/pseuds/venusinthenight
Summary: Six 221B-style slices of life in an AU where Joan and Marcus are (nearly) life-long friends.





	Scenes from Two Lives, Converged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gilded_Pleasure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilded_Pleasure/gifts).



> Hat-tip to my beta reader, disheveledcurls, for their help!

It was lunchtime on the first day of school. Seven-year-old Joan held her cafeteria tray loaded with what looked like mashed potatoes and gravy with something resembling a slice of meat loaf, accompanied by a half-pint of two-percent milk, in her hands, looking for somewhere to sit.

She saw a young boy around her age that she didn’t recognize. With some nervousness, she walked up to him. “Hi,” she said.

The boy looked up. “Hey,” he replied.

“Are those seats taken?”

He shook his head. Joan sat across from him. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Just moved here this summer. I’m Marcus.”

“I’m Joan.” She took a bite of her meat loaf and grimaced. “What grade are you in?”

“Second.”

“So am I!" Joan paused. "You must be in another class. I’ve got Mr. Castoro for a teacher.”

“Yeah, mine’s Mr. Kohler.” Marcus took a bite of his own mashed potatoes and grimaced. “Tastes nothing like my mom’s.”

“Is your mom a good cook?”

“She’s okay. Yours?”

Joan tilted her head both ways a couple of times. They smiled at each other in understanding.

"You like comic books?" Joan asked.

"I love Marvel comics," said Marcus with some excitement. "Black Panther's my favorite." He sipped on his milk. “You into sports at all?”

"Yeah," she replied, "I really like Mets baseball."

\---

As teenagers, Joan and Marcus were at the same high school and found themselves sharing some classes here and there -- one of the most notable ones being Chemistry during their sophomore year. Not so much because they liked their teacher -- Ms. Reed’s lessons were not very engaging or interesting to either of them -- but because another student in their class provided worlds of distraction.

“Sherlock!” Ms. Reed exclaimed during a lab session during one of the classes. “Unless you’re looking to blow up the entire school, you’ll conduct these experiments as you are told. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied sarcastically.

Most of the students giggled.

“I don’t think Principal Gregson would find this particularly funny,” said their teacher in a stern tone.

One of the students, Javier, muttered something in Spanish, then added, “He’s crazy.”

“It’s the most excitement we’ve had all day!” offered another classmate, Gwen.

“Seriously,” added her twin sister, Olivia.

“Get back to your experiments, please,” Ms. Reed instructed.

Joan and Marcus looked at each other, grinning in silent agreement: as long as this dirty blond-haired guy with a British accent and a knack for wearing blazers over graphic t-shirts was around, they didn’t care too much if he burned the entire school down with beakers full of explosive chemicals and a plethora of bunsen burners. 

\---

“Hey,” Marcus said to Joan as he joined her in a booth in a pizza parlor one evening during their first year of college.

“Hey,” she replied. “You okay with mushrooms as a topping?”

“As long as you don’t add pineapple.”

“What’s wrong with pineapple on pizza?” Joan looked at him, amused.

“Everything.” His expression was deadpan. Changing the subject, Marcus asked, “How’s your classes?”

“Good, except I’ve got these two girls -- Elana and Jamie -- competing for my attention, flirting, trying to ask me out.”

“I can’t say I blame them. Honestly, I’m surprised more people aren’t vying for you. You’re smart, beautiful, bound to be the most badass doctor in the city.”

Joan flushed and looked down at her lap. “You really think that?”

Marcus nodded.

Slowly, Joan asked, “How come you’ve never --?”

“Pursued more with you? Why, do you want more than what we’ve got?”

“No!” Joan’s answer was swift and caused Marcus to blink back in surprise. “No,” she said again, softer. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

“No, I’m the one who jumped the gun,” said Marcus. “What we have is good. I like this, don’t want to ruin it.”

“Yeah,” Joan agreed. After a beat, she asked, “So how’s it going with you?”

“Police academy is great. Except for the burpees.”

\---

Joan was about to start her medical internship, and Marcus had been a Detective for only a couple of years, when they decided to move in together. Finding a two-bedroom, two-bathroom place in Brooklyn -- especially anywhere close to both the hospital and the police station, and even more especially as it was gentrifying -- was a tall order.

They ultimately signed a lease on an apartment that was just over seven hundred fifty square feet. “I think the bedroom I shared with Andre, when we were kids, was bigger than this whole area,” Marcus quipped, gesturing at the living room-dining room-kitchen combination.

Joan looked around. “I know white everywhere is supposed to make spaces feel bigger and brighter, but I feel like I just stepped into a padded cell.”

“You don’t like white and bright?” Marcus snickered in sarcasm.

“First thing we’re doing is painting at least one of these walls.”

“Wow, even before we stock up the fridge and whatever passes for a pantry in here. I’m amazed.”

Joan gave her friend and roommate a glare. “I can’t live with all these white walls, Marcus.” She lightly tapped on the one to her right, with the cable hook-up. “Let’s start by painting this one. It’ll make it easier to watch all the games.”

Marcus acquiesced. “Fine. What color?”

“Maybe navy blue?”

\---

As they entered middle age, Joan and Marcus had lived together for so long -- over fifteen years -- that friends and colleagues long assumed they were a long-term couple or even secretly married. Both of them found the notion simultaneously amusing and annoying.

“We would be the worst married couple,” he mused one day as they met up for lunch. “I mean, I like living with you, but I’m glad we’re not married.”

Joan thought about it for a moment as she took a bite of her salad. She nodded and, after swallowing, elaborated, “I think if we got married we’d be on each others’ nerves all the time and hold the marriage part against each other.”

“We still have our moments sometimes, though.”

“Well, yeah, but we don’t have marriage and divorce laws in our way if we wanted to end things. We could have walked away from each other at any time over the years, and all we’d have to deal with would be the apartment lease.”

“That is an added advantage,” agreed Marcus. After a beat, he asked, “Do you think you’ll ever marry anyone?”

Joan took a sip of water. “I’m not sure. I’ve thought about it sometimes, but I like what we have. What about you?”

He nodded. “I think what we have together is the best.”

\---

They retired within six months of each other -- Joan as one of the most beloved surgeons the hospital ever employed, and Marcus a long-serving Detective with thousands of solved homicide cases to his credit. Once free from their jobs, they’d briefly considered moving out of the city but swiftly decided against it. “We’re too old for this moving thing now,” said Marcus.

“Yes, and why would we leave here anyway?" Joan wanted to know. "This is our home, has been for decades now."

“Fair point,” he conceded. “The only way I’m moving out of here is if paramedics are carrying my corpse.”

“Oren and Gabrielle and their family would have to drag me to the nursing home kicking and screaming.”

“If they do, I’m following you. I mean, we made it this far; we may as well go all the way to the grave together.”

Joan blushed a little. “If I could tell that little second-grader that the boy she’d meet in the cafeteria that day would be her life-long best friend and that they’d be living together as adults, she’d probably think that was nuts.”

“I probably would’ve thought so, too. And yet, here we are.” Marcus stretched his arms out, palms up.

Joan nodded. Then, she asked, “What would you like to do tonight?”

“Anything except going to Bingo.”


End file.
